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still have his cigarettes.
    He stormed to the door of his office and opened it abruptly, which turned several heads in his direction.
    "Someone find Prerovsky immediately! Goddamn it, I want this shit filed electronically," he said, waving the report at nobody in particular. "We're living in the fucking dark ages here, and we're missing shit left and right!"
    Now everyone was looking in his direction, at a very atypical burst of emotion from their director. Several analysts broke from their seats, to either look for Agent Prerovsky or just get out of the way.
    "He's over in another section. Caucasus Division," a female agent replied, who didn't appear to be moving from her computer workstation.
    "Well? What exactly are you waiting for? A personal invitation to get off your ass and find him? For a bunch of analysts, you seem to have trouble connecting the dots. I need Prerovsky here immediately! I don't pay him to work in the Caucasus Division! He works here, and if you value your job in my division you'll fucking find him immediately!" he said, and retreated into his office, leaving everyone to scramble.
    The door slammed shut, and he listened to the beehive of activity on the other side of the flimsy gray door. That went well. A little fire under their asses worked miracles from time to time. Kaparov was careful not to verbally explode on them too regularly, like many of the other directors and mid-level managers within Headquarters. It served no purpose other than to alienate, though every once in a while, he felt the need to show them that they weren't working on easy street. Granted, his division wasn't the busiest, but it was no less important than any other division, and on a day like today, it might be more important than anyone would care to admit. Just as he sat down to look at the report again, he heard a knock at the door.
    "Come in," he barked, and Yuri Prerovsky opened the door, stepping in tentatively.
    "Shut the door. We have a problem," he said.
    Agent Yuri Prerovsky, second in command of the Bioweapons/Chemical Threat Assessment Division, shut the door and walked over to a crude folding chair opened next to his boss's desk. "What's all the commotion?"
    He threw the report down on the end of the desk closest to Yuri. "Have you seen this report?"
    Yuri studied the first page and thumbed through it. "I haven't read it. I catalogued it and placed it on your desk two days ago. I think we received it by mistake. It should have been routed to the Caucasus Threat Division if anything…hold on," he said, studying the document, "actually, it was routed to them as well."
    "Read page three and you'll see why it was routed to us," he said and waited for Yuri's response.
    "Fuck…how did Central Processing miss this?"
    "They didn't. They got it to the right desk, but didn't bother to highlight Reznikov's name or put an alert in the computer! Anything to bring this to our attention. He's at the top of our list for fuck's sake!" he yelled, instantly calming back down and holding his hand out for the report.
    "Two days you say? Shit." Kaparov lit a cigarette from the pack of Troikas in his desk. "The raid occurred five days ago, and this is the speed at which we receive crucial information?" he said, deeply inhaling tobacco smoke.
    "There isn't much here, and we’re not likely to dig the rest out of Alpha Branch. I'll try though," Yuri said.
    Kaparov exhaled the smoke toward the ceiling and regarded Yuri. He was young and smart, part of the new generation of law enforcement agents that hadn't been trained under the KGB. He wasn't part of the paranoid, compartmentalized thinking that had served mother Russia so miserably for nearly fifty years. The fact that he had no hesitation to walk upstairs to the infamous branch that handled FSB Spetsnaz Operations was a testament to the new days.
    Agents like Prerovksy gave him hope that the change was real. Two decades ago, walking up to the KGB Special Operations Branch without an